Catch Me When I Fall
by Doitsu
Summary: Russia feels alone. Russia feels like crying. He calls England, since his presence is comforting. Needless to say, England is less than thrilled, but accepts. When Russia is kidnapped by the Axis Powers, will England come to his rescue? England/Russia
1. Chapter 1

Hello everyone, come to explore what EnglandxRussia has to offer? Yah, me too. This story was begging to be written and seeing as I am a nice person, I simply couldn't refuse it! Usually I am not a RussiaxEngland shipper, but I think Russia has potential, and so does England! England is wonderful anyways. Austria too. And Germany. The US, too, in a funny, weird way. Read on and enjoy!

_Sometimes in the darkness_

_Eyes open of their own accord_

_As I stumble into unknown depths_

_Oh, how desperately I wish _

_For you to catch me when I fall_

_Sometimes in the darkness_

Catch Me When I Fall

1917 (World War I)

Russia sighed and leaned back in his chair. A pounding headache made it hard to think. His population was revolting, rebelling, had reached their limit of endurance. Russia knew he had treated them badly, had not provided enough food for them and continued to support his allies against Germany.

Now, he could hardly get up, exhausted as he was. All the riots and strikes were wearing him down slowly and he knew that soon, the Tsar was going to fall.

He picked up the phone next to his desk and dialled a number he had never dialled before. Of course, he had met England at the summits held by the Allies, but they had never shared close bonds. Now that he thought about it, England even seemed to be scared of him. He put down the receiver.

The problem was, Russia felt alone. Russia felt small. Russia felt like crying.

The past few months, he had been neglecting the war, had been running all over his country, trying to appease the peasants, the proletariat, even the bourgeoisie, and still, he felt deep inside himself, that his country was breaking apart.

His army was being slaughtered by the Germans and all he wanted to do was give up and wave a silly little white flag just like Italy always did whenever any of the Allies got too close.

But he was Russia, for goodness' sake! He was supposed to be strong and unyielding! And yet, he felt like calling England. Not France, not America, not anyone. England.

Russia wasn't sure why he felt like calling the smaller country, but being in England's presence was... comforting. In comparison to himself, England was stable and stability was what Russia needed the most.

With new resolve, Russia picked up the receiver.

…

''Good afternoon, who is it?''

Russia hesitated. What was he supposed to say? Why was he calling England?

''...England. It's Russia'', he settled on saying, keeping his voice neutral.

A small gasp and a short silence were his answer. Then, ''Russia... What made you call?''

''I... Everything is so much right now... I just...'' Russia wanted to slap himself. Why did he sound so pathetic?

Hesitation on England's part. ''Do you... do you want to come over for a cup of tea?''

Russia hated tea. Oh, how he despised it. ''Yes, thank you.''

Silence.

''I'll... I'll be right there, then.''

''All right.''

Click. Silence.

-888-

England was scared. No, scratch that, England was freaking out!

He felt like slapping himself, like running around his house, yanking on his hair and hiding in a small cupboard where no one would ever find him, least of all Russia, who he had just invited to his house in a moment of sympathy.

How could he have been so horribly stupid? Russia! Russia who was so unstable that one had to fear every moment that he'd lash out or implode! England would definitely prefer the latter.

So what had made him invite Russia over for tea? He only ever did that with France, and that was only sometimes, when they were not fighting or angry at each other.

The bell rang.

England jumped and turned slowly toward the door. Surely this couldn't be Russia already...?

He hesitantly walked over to the door, opening it. It was Russia. But he didn't look as scary as usual. Instead, he looked younger than he usually did, as if he had somehow gotten lost somewhere and couldn't find his way home. England took a step forward.

''Russia. You look under the weather, why don't you come in?'' Never forgetting his manners, England started to lead the way.

In his agitation, he had completely forgotten to start the tea and quickly began filling a kettle with water, placing it on the stove. He was glad he had a way to occupy his hands, because he honestly did not know what to say to the bigger nation.

Russia was just standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking as though he did not know what to do with himself. England frowned to himself. Where was the creepy aura, the menacing look?

''Russia...?'', he ventured.

''England... I am sorry to come to you on such short notice'', Russia said awkwardly, looking anywhere except at England. ''My country is in such chaos, I couldn't take it any longer...''

England knew about the troubles, the conflicts within his allied nation's country, but he had never realised how much this must affect him.

Russia had always been ''that creepy, huge country'' to him. Despite the alliance, never a friend or confidant.

It scared England to see Russia so weak, so open. It wasn't right. ''Sit down, I'll have the tea ready in a minute.'' With that, he gestured to the living room.

Russia only nodded and went to sit down.

In the kitchen, England's mind was working fast. Russia was weak right now. But he had so much potential. If he helped him up now, gave him new confidence, maybe their nations would become even closer and Russia would owe him. Russia owing him a favour was not bad. Not bad at all.

England smiled slightly as the kettle began to whistle.

-888-

Russia was not regretting his decision. As soon as he had entered England's house, he had started to feel calmer than he had in a long time.

He wasn't quite sure how to deal with his host yet, but just being here, in his house, in his presence, quietened his racing thoughts and that horrible feeling of helplessness.

The living room was warm and cosy. A fire was crackling in the hearth and a sofa was sitting in front of it, beckoning to him, it seemed. Russia sat down, watching the dancing flames that looked both more colourful and alive than at home.

Russia sank into a trance and slowly slipped off into sleep and when England finally arrived with the tea, he was fast asleep, a small upward tilt to his lips the only evidence of his contentment.

-88888888-

What do you think? Leave me a line! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Here we are again, the second chapters for my dear readers. Thanks go to everyone who reviewed! And Dark Fenrir: your cookie was delicious :P I ate it while writing this chapter. This is dedicated to Italia, who is undercover as Kimichan77 or something like that :) Thanks for your help and for making me write this until 11:24pm!! (I am a very early sleeper, usually, and an early bird!) Read on and enjoy, everyone! Doitsu loves you! :)

Chapter 2

England had just finished the tea and also added a few scones to a small plate. The living room was quiet as he stepped in and he stopped short when he saw Russia sleeping on his sofa, half sitting up, half leaning against the armrest at an awkward angle.

It was not necessarily the fact that Russia was sleeping that surprised England, but his appearance. Dark circles were visible under his eyes and Russia seemed to be in the deepest of sleeps, as though he had not had any shut-eye for days. Lastly, it was his slight smile that threw England off.

Russia did not smile, well, he did, but on those occasions he generally was either threatening Latvia or Estonia or he was in an extremely odd mood, not boding well for any nations in the vicinity. Russia's smiles were usually given with an insane glint in his violet eyes and a scary undertone in his voice.

This new smile was something England had never even glimpsed before. It was open, in a way, maybe also innocent? And there was no voice or eyes to take away from that impression. Russia looked at peace, really.

Sighing deeply and turning these new thoughts over and over in his mind, England settled down opposite of Russia to wait for him to awaken.

The steaming tea stood between them on the low table, spreading its clear scent throughout the room and slowly growing cold.

-888-

Russia was not dreaming anymore. He was at the blurry edge between sleep and wakefulness, in some ways aware of his surroundings, but then again, not truly processing any of the information his brain did manage to gather.

His brain said: warm.

His brain said: soft.

His brain said: comfortable.

And Russia just remained where he was, not realising that he should be somewhere cold and uncomfortable- at his own home.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

Telephone! What? Huh? Where? Why? Quick! Russia straightened on the sofa, from one moment to the other startled into wakefulness.

He glanced around hectically, his eyes finally settling on the figure of England striding toward the phone, his body tense and high-strung, as though he were angry for its interruption in whatever he had been doing.

A quiet and terse ''Yes?'' was all the caller received.

Russia frowned. England? Then he remembered. Slowly sitting up, weary as he was, he tried to discern who his ally was talking to. This proved unnecessary because a second later, England practically shouted the name in outrage.

''FRANCE!''

A moment of silence.

''I am unable to understand the state of mind required to contemplate even thinking about that question!''

Silence again. Russia could see England's profile, eyebrows drawn into a frown and green eyes wide in dismayed surprise. He had one of his hands tangled in his hair, tugging on a few blonde strands in his agitation.

''No, no and no again, France. I told you before! What is it with the Allies today? How come I am the one everyone comes to for help?''

His irritable tone made Russia want to curl up and cover his ears, especially because he knew now that he was no more than a burden to him.

''Go marry someone else, you twat!''

The receiver made a clanking noise as England hung up. Russia saw him run a hand through his hair, hassled. A sigh escaped the smaller nation as he turned toward the sofa again. His eyes visibly softened and he looked apologetic as he saw that Russia was awake.

''I am sorry I woke you up, France was being stupid again.''

Russia tried sitting up more, but he felt blood rushing to his head and his vision blacked out for a moment. A warm hand on his right shoulder steadied him and England's concerned green eyes swam into vision.

''Are you all right?''

The question reminded Russia that England was annoyed at being the one always having to come to the rescue, even though his actions now seemed to suggest otherwise. Truthfully, Russia felt like asking to stay a few more hours in this comforting house, in front of that hearth, but, shooting a glance at the green-eyed nation, he decided he did not want to overstay his welcome.

Russia got up brusquely, attempting to ignore the blackness that swept his vision yet again.

-888-

Russia was acting strangely. He looked hurt, in a way, and hopeful at the same time. Still he didn't answer.

Suddenly, he got up. England was confused but quickly reached out to grab Russia as he swayed on his feet, eyes unfocused.

''You shouldn't get up so quickly, Russia-''

But Russia shrugged him off. Then, the violet eyes settled on him. ''Thank you. I will leave now.''

England was shaken by the look in Russia's eyes. A small glint of the madness that he sometimes glimpsed at summits had awoken in his eyes again. England shivered and stepped aside.

Without glancing back, Russia took his coat and stumbled out of the house, hunch-backed in the cooling air.

England watched him go, confused and taken aback.

He stayed leaning against the doorway pensively, only shutting the door when Russia was out of sight.

Why had Russia left so abruptly? Had he not been a good host, had he forgotten to offer Russia food or drink? Maybe it was Russian etiquette he had breached in some way?

Shaking his head, England cleared his mind of the questions. Russia had simply seen it fit to leave. However, England couldn't help but worry a little. Russia had been so weak, so fatigued and had almost fallen over twice, had England not helped steady him.

And what England could not get out of his mind either, was the glimpses of a different Russia he had seen today. A scared and insecure Russia, uncomfortably wringing his hands in England's kitchen. A truly innocent Russia, eyes closed and a slight smile playing on his lips as he slept.

This was not the huge nation who scared Lithuania and Latvia out of their wits on summits. This was not the ally he had known before.

England stopped next to a window and watched night fall, with cold wind howling around the house. He wrapped his arms around himself and imagined what the weather would be like in Russia.

-888-

The wind was biting cold and Russia suppressed a convulsive shiver. Normally, the cold did not faze him as much as it did now. He attributed the effect the cold had on him to the sickness he felt creeping through his body.

A cold drop landed on his nose and it was so cold, in fact, that Russia chanced a look toward the sky, which revealed a flurry of snowflakes falling down slowly but steadily. Soon, Russia was surrounded by shifting white walls of thick flakes, whipping around him and making it hard for him to see in any direction.

Russia wasn't sure when he had started not to recognise his surroundings. Maybe it was when he saw that the path was no longer there or maybe he might have realised he was lost when he saw the silouhette of a tall man clad in blue coming toward him with long strides and realised it was Austria.

At some point, Russia must have left the path and headed in another direction. The wrong direction.

Austria came to a halt in front of Russia and quickly took in his overall state.

Knowing it to be futile, Russia tried to stand straighter and look more menacing, but his pathetic attempt at making Austria leave him alone were unsuccessful. He was weak and he looked it, too.

''Russia?''

Tired violet eyes lifted to meet a set of fierce brown eyes. ''Austria. Please...''

A sharp motion of Austria's head cut Russia off. The taller nation had a serious look on his aristocratic face.

''I have no choice, Russia. We are at war. This is a chance I cannot let pass, you must understand.''

''Can't we pretend that we never crossed paths?'' Russia tried, feeling horrible for begging, but in his weakness could resort to nothing else.

Austria smiled a tight smile. ''It's nothing personal. Come with me without making a fuss and I will treat you just like any other guest... only with fewer freedoms.''

''Austria, you don't understand... I have to run a country, there are upheavals, revolution-''

''Sorry Russia. You don't even seem to be in a state to work. Come along now, or I'll have to put you in chains.'' The taller nation looked stern and unmovable.

Not wanting to waste the rest of his strength on fighting a losing battle, Russia put down his head and followed Austria, who nodded in approval at his compliance.

-888-

England watched the weather. It had gone from bad to worse. Now, it was actually snowing so hard that he couldn't even see the elm tree he had in his backyard, standing a mere 20 metres from his window.

He was worried. The weather was so awful and Russia was on his way home, had maybe even arrived already. Would he have made it home safely? And why did he leave so abruptly?

Getting weary of waiting and wondering, England walked over to his phone, hesitated a moment and then dialled Russia's number.

It rang once. Twice. Three times. England was getting impatient. Four times. An annoyed sigh. Five times. No answer. Six times. Maybe he had been too weak to make it home? Seven times. Was Russia okay? Clank.

England put down the receiver. Something wasn't right. Russia should have been in his palace by now. What had kept him?

Half an hour later, he called again. Still, no answer. England was getting edgy. What if the journey to and from England had been too much for the fatigued country? What if all of this was England's fault for coming up with the stupid idea of inviting Russia over for tea?

Making a decision, England stood, grabbed his long overcoat and stepped outside, into the ice-cold snowstorm.

-8888888-

Ohhh, Russia has been kidnapped! England to the rescue! :) Drop me a line!


	3. Chapter 3

Wow, thanks for all the reviews, I'm very happy to read them! They motivated me to write this chapter :) I've been trying to upload this chapter since Friday, but was being weird, but it has finally worked, yay! -Eats chocolate- (I'm gonna become a whale if you guys keep feeding me! I should wear a tag that says ''Don't feed the author'' or something) And for all the fangirls/boys: there's reason to squeal in this chapter :D Have fun!

Chapter 3 – February 1917

The palace was imposing, Russia had to admit. It had a refined beauty to it and in many ways, the building represented the nation that lived within.

Austria cleared his throat quietly and motioned for Russia to keep on walking. He was far too polite to order him to do so. Russia glanced at his feet as he strode up to the building and only looked back once to see the imprints his feet had left in the snow.

Once inside, Austria led Russia through several highly decorated rooms, where the aristocratic nation with his old-fashioned clothes looked as though he belonged. Russia yawned in fatigue, only vaguely thinking that despite the sophistication of the palace, England's home had been far more comfortable than this.

They climbed a grand staircase, royal blue carpet on white, gleaming marble. Austria spoke no word. A set of white double doors opened wide for them, to a room the size of England's kitchen, living room and entrance hall combined. The ceiling was so high that Russia had to tilt back his head fully to see it.

''Who did you bring, Austria?'', a deep voice asked from across the room.

Russia watched Austria turn toward the speaker, a smile forming on his previously stern face. The target of that smile was a blonde man, with steady blue eyes, which widened in recognition.

''Russia!''

Russia needed only a second longer to identify, dismayed, the man who had jumped up from the sofa and was now pointing a gun at him.

He felt rooted to the spot, feeling something akin to fear. ''Germany!''

A moment of heavy silence followed, filled with unspoken words.

Then Germany sharply lowered his weapon and turned an accusing look on Austria. ''What is he doing here?''

''I caught him.''

''What do you mean, you caught him?!''

''He got lost in the snowstorm on his way home and he was weak, therefore I caught him.''

''And pray tell, what should we do with him now that we have him?'' Germany was getting annoyed, Russia could tell.

Austria sighed in exasperation. ''Ludwig, just think about this. We won't have to worry about fighting Russia on the Eastern Front anymore. The two-front war is over!''

Germany considered and a slow, frightening smile twisted his lips as he looked over to Russia standing alone in the doorway, soaked and shivering, defenseless.

The blonde nation enthusiastically whipped out a notebook from a pocket, motioned Austria over and from one moment to the other, the two countries were sitting together, heads bent over the notebook and plotting their next moves in quiet, urgent tones.

Russia just remained standing, shivering and concentrating on staying upright, when, without warning, everything grew dark and Russia knew no more.

-888-

Russia was nowhere to be found. England sighed and resigned himself to walking all the way to the Winter Palace in Petrograd. Maybe Russia had fallen sick and that was the reason he had not answered the phone?

After walking for a while, the cold February wind whipping snow around him violently, Petrograd loomed before him in the dark.

England was greeted by chaos. It was a happy kind of chaos, a jubilant shout of freedom, with masses upon masses of people flooding the streets. Frowning, he asked the first person who did not seem drunk on vodka or delirious with happiness.

''What's going on here? Why is everyone so happy?''

The passersby flashed him a grin and answered in broken English, ''Haven't you heard? The Tsar is gone! The Provisional Government and the Petrograd Soviet have taken power on behalf of the people! We'll finally have food and peace!''

Without further ado, the man continued to make his merry way through the crowds.

England couldn't move. Tsar Nicholas had abdicated? But the Romanovs had been in power for over 300 years...! No wonder Russia had been acting so strangely when he visited. A change in government was always hard on a nation. He still remembered how beat up France was, after the French had done away with their last monarch, Louis XVI. But where was Russia now?

Outside the Winter Palace, England half expected for Russia to come to meet him, but even as he asked the guards standing in front of the grand building, they could not tell him where the country had gone.

Deeply concerned, England returned to his house, not able to spare any more time due to the war still raging between the Allied Powers and the Central Powers. However, when he arrived and sat at his desk to read reports and make decisions, a cup of steaming Earl Grey next to him, his mind would not let him concentrate.

Again and again, he saw Russia in front of him, Russia sitting, Russia yawning, Russia sleeping, Russia walking away through the cold evening. He had never had close ties with the bigger nation, but England was aware of his role in Russia's disappearance. It was his fault, his fault that he had let the violet-eyed man leave even though he should have known better. Russia had been in no shape to travel unaccompanied, weak as he was. No, scratch that, he should not have been travelling at all.

It had only been England's residual fear of Russia that had made England stay at his house and not even offer to walk the other country home. Deep down, England still remembered the strange glint in Russia's eyes when he looked at Lithuania, the creepy smile he used to give Latvia. How Estonia shivered in fear whenever he saw the taller nation. How Russia sat on his cursed chair and had it break. Yes, England knew that Russia was, despite his weakness right now, a nation to be reckoned with.

And still, Russia had called him. Him, not because they were allies, but because Russia felt comforted by him. And what had he done? He had repayed him by fearing him, by being relieved when he left!

He reached for his phone, intending to call France and America, to ask them for help in looking for Russia, but the phone rang before he had even started dialling.

Surprised, he picked up the receiver. ''England speaking, who is there?''

''This is Germany. We have Russia.''

England's heart did a little jump. ''Russia?!'' Gods, what had he done? Russia had gone and gotten himself captured... and England could have prevented it! England cursed himself in his head, bringing his clenched fist down on his desk, hard. His knuckles hurt.

''The Central Powers are making you an offer: call off your troops and sign a treaty with us and Russia will be free again. Of course, he will be signing a similar treaty as well... only that he will also be giving up a few territories.''

''You must be joking!'' England was flustered.

''Have you ever known me to make jokes, England?'', Germany asked in his most serious and quiet voice.

No, Germany never joked around. ''What about the other Allied Powers?''

''They are easy to deal with. France is practically defeated and America is too far away to make much of a difference... what do you say?''

England's mind raced. The decision of how the war would end was in his hands now. He hated the responsibility it placed on him. But then he thought of something that Germany had not mentioned.

''What happens if I don't comply with your demands?''

A moment of silence followed. Then Germany answered in a deceptively calm tone, ''Then Russia will not have as nice a stay here as he would in hell.''

-888-

Russia's fuzzy mind was slowly moving toward wakefulness and through his closed eyelids he could already feel the bright light filtering into the room he was in.

Carefully opening his eyes, he saw that he was lying in a four poster bed. Fatigue hit again as he tried to sit up and as he did, a few strands of his silvery blonde hair fell into his eyes, which he swiped back, touching his forehead in the process.

Russia's forehead was warm. Very warm, in fact. He groaned as he realised he had a fever and he felt sick. The light hitting his face stung his eyes and made his head throb. Overall, he felt awful.

Curling up again and turning away from the bothersome window, he wished for someone to be there, to sit down at his bed side, hold his hand and bring him tea. England made nice tea. England was nice in general... England had a pretty fireplace... and his house was warm and cosy...

-and Russia was asleep again.

Russia dreamed. It was one of those feverish dreams, a horrible dream, twisted reality and impossibilities churning in an endless whirlwind of staircases, tea cups, white walls and clocks going backwards. And in this whirlpool, drowning in madness and the inexplicable urgency pervading the nightmare, was Russia.

He needed to run, yes, running was important, destination was not, where was he going, why, well it didn't matter, did it, it was important, crucial, oh clocks, time passed quickly, minutes were created, who was he to complain? Turning and turning, the walls had so many corners, holes in the floor, careful, the tea cups couldn't break, careful careful, another winding, threatening staircase coming at him closer, closer, wait or run- and suddenly, a glimpse of a figure in one of the rooms he passed.

Russia stopped running. That one room had been filled with calm, with an order and structure that had soothed him in the split second he had glimpsed it. Where was it now? The doors were spinning in front of him, the corners multiplying behind his back. Where was it now?

There! A figure was stepping out of a room, several corridors down, madness receding wherever he walked. Russia reached out and wanted to call out to the figure bringing peace, but his throat closed up and no sound escaped.

Call me by my name... call me... sounds shifted and Russia knew the figure was speaking.

But who are you?! Russia wanted to call, but again his throat didn't work. The figure was fading. Don't go! Russia wanted to call. Don't go, don't leave me! Madness closed in. The figure was nearly gone. A last wave of soothing calm enveloped Russia, and suddenly, he knew.

His throat cleared up, his voice broke out.

''England!''

The figure flickered and then regained colour, regained strength. Russia started to recognise the stronger nation as he strode toward him. The green uniform, blonde hair and yes, those piercing green eyes. Chancing a glance behind him, Russia saw the whirlwind retreating reluctantly, the twisting staircase hissing and spitting like an angry cat.

And finally, England was there. He stopped in front of Russia, met his eyes with his and stretched out a hand in a silent offer of support.

Reaching out, Russia felt as though their hands were miles apart, but finally, they touched. He let himself float on the calm England brought with him and was startled when the stronger nation pulled him close.

Madness receded and the walls stopped shifting. England's strength slowly seeped into Russia, everywhere they touched.

Russia's eyes were wide as his head rested on England's right shoulder and reason returned to him. Why...?

-888-

England wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not. And it didn't really matter. All he knew was that he had seen Russia caught in an infernal disorder of nightmarish quality, desperate and in need of help.

His violet eyes had been darting from one threat to the other, insanity building up in his mind.

England had seen it before, the madness, the helplessness. And when he stepped toward the taller nation, Russia had looked up and fixed him with a gaze so desperate that England's chest ached in an odd way.

But it had been Russia's dream, Russia who had control and try as he might, England could not walk closer to... to do what?

He needed Russia's acknowledgement, needed him to realise who he was so that he could truly become part of the dream, because as the visitor he was right then, he could not help him.

And when Russia had finally called out his name, voice close to breaking, England could only think how important it was to get to him, to soothe his pain away and make it better.

When he had reached him, he wasn't so sure anymore. What if Russia didn't want to be comforted? He reached out a hand instead.

And Russia had grasped it, with a fervour that had shaken him, had shown how much he needed him to be here, right here, and England decided he didn't care what Russia thought, because right now he looked like he needed England more than anything else.

And now, holding the shuddering Russia, England couldn't think of a reason why he should be anywhere else.

-8888888-

:D Awww England!

Drop a line, but don't drop it ON me (especially you, Amethyst)!! -laughs-


	4. Chapter 4

Gosh, this took a while! :D After this, there's just one more chapter to go! I repeat, this is NOT the last chapter. Again, some squeal moments included (especially in the end!), as well as some Italia-cuteness! Thanks for the reviews :) They are greatly appreciated. Russia likes to eat them o.O Oh, and England had the milk in his tea, thanks Fenrir :).

There are quite a few historical facts in this chapter, stuff that I am not going to mention now. Hint: watch out for Italy. This really happened in April 1917. Isn't that nice?

Have fun!!

Chapter 4 February, 1917

For the first time in centuries, Russia woke up not feeling the urge to make other nations squirm or shake in fear. It was a totally new sentiment, and in fact, he felt positively... peaceful. As though his hidden vicious streak had left him, if only for a while. Russia absently wondered if this was how the other countries usually felt.

Images from his dream were slowly passing in front of his eyes, growing fainter by the minute. How he had run, run away from the madness chasing him, only to be rescued by a green-eyed man, who had taken him in his arms and held him, despite the fact that Russia was nearly a head taller. Russia blushed a little, for no apparent reason. He could still feel the sense of calm pervading him, reminding him of the source of it.

England had been there, and it had felt as though the nation were truly present in his dream. He had felt so _real_, so _there_. Russia wondered if England had been dreaming, too. Did he know that he had been captured? Did he care? Would he be coming for him?

Russia shook his head violently. He should not be thinking these things, hoping for another nation to rescue him. None had done so in the past, Russia had always had to deal with mishaps and revolutions and wars by himself. With or without allies, he had always been on his own, was the only one who would help. And he was okay with that. He didn't care if England came to free him or not. It would just be... nice of him.

He was well aware of the fact that most countries were fearful of him or that he made them uncomfortable, at least. It was in his nature to enjoy their unease and increase it by subtly reminding them of his power. However, strangely enough, he did not feel like his usual self today. He blamed it all on England. Russia still felt the stronger nation's presence around him, taking away pains of the past and present, making it possible to think straight for once.

Russia needed to escape. That was clear. Already, he felt that something had changed within his country and he was desperate to go and see. Had the proletariat finally risen up, along with the peasantry? Was the Tsar still in power? A twinge in his heart told him that he was not. Resignedly, he cast down his eyes, allowing himself to worry about the future of his country for once.

He balled his right hand into a fist with some blanket caught within, hitting the bed repeatedly in frustration. He was trapped and could not come to his country's help.

Maybe England....? Russia felt a sudden surge of energy that took him off-guard. It was as though England was beside him, smiling a fierce smile, with gleaming eyes and telling him that they would get him out of there. The smile, the hope, momentarily replenished energy thought lost and Russia got up with new purpose in his eyes.

-888-

England was nervous, so very very nervous. What if this did not work out? What if... gods, there were so many thing that could go wrong! Speaking to Germany over the phone, England had spent a moment in utter silence, in which his mind had raced through plan after plan, until he finally told him he was accepting, that he would be signing the Treaty, and that Russia would lose territories to the Triple Alliance. The Treaty was scheduled for May in Belgium and that was why England had to act quickly.

Germany had been right- France was nearly defeated and America did not have all his troops mobilised, not to mention that it would take him months to bring them to Europe. But as England had thought about the terms of Russia's release, he had realised an important fact. He and Russia were the nations the Triple Alliance considered their greatest threat. And how convenient that they had taken Russia hostage, to force England to basically give up the war.

And in that moment on the phone, an inkling of an idea had flashed through his mind, quick as lightning, burning its image into the forefront of his thoughts. Back then, England had voiced his acceptance, but now, he wasn't so sure of his plan anymore.

As promised, he had withdrawn his troops from the fronts with Germany, had stopped his naval blockade of Germany and to all intents and purposes, he seemed to be withdrawing from the war. France had already begun to act more defensive than anything in the war and America had called him yesterday to yell at him and ask him what the _fuck _he was thinking. All he could tell his allies was that he had a good reason, that Russia needed saving. To this, they reacted even worse, saying that Russia was a ticking time-bomb who would probably rip England's head off when he saved him.

But England knew better. In the dream he had shared with Russia tonight- and he knew it had to have been Russia- England had seen that Russia was... more than what the other nations saw in him. It was as though they had barely scratched the surface of what made Russia Russia and were too scared, too undetermined to look deeper than the misleading exterior.

England took out a small slip of paper and started composing a telegram to his Prime Minister David Lloyd George.

_Withdraw all troops from German borders. Stop. Advance to Geneva, Switzerland. Stop. Secrecy of utmost importance. Stop._

Now, what was left to be done was to visit Petrograd and mobilise the Russian Armies. He hoped the troops withdrawn from the front when Russia had been captured would be quick to take up their weapons under his command. For Russia.

Praying he had made the right decision, England rose from his chair, grabbed his coat in the corridor and strode out of his house into the bright light of late February.

-888-

April, 1917

It had been weeks since Russia had last seen England in his dreams. They had been drinking tea and England had looked as though he wanted to say something, but the dream did not let him. Instead, Russia merely basked in his presence, while England smile softly and touched his silvery blonde hair. But ever since Austria had told him that he would be free in May, because England would be signing a Treaty (it would still be another month, since Austria and Germany wanted to make sure England was upholding his end of the bargain by withdrawing his troops), Russia had not met the stronger nation in his dreams. Maybe, he thought, because he felt less than charitable toward him at the moment.

Of course, Russia was glad he would be released, but to what price? He was disappointed. Really, he should not be, but nonetheless, his stupid feelings betrayed him. Russia had dared to hope that England would come to rescue him. Huh, what a foolishly romantic notion. He had always trusted only himself and now, trusting someone other had brought only disappointment. He should have known. What had England been thinking, bargaining away Russia's territories as though they were his to give? Why had he not tried... tried to at least come and... Enough.

England had not come and he would not and really, what had Russia been expecting?

It looked like he was on his own again. But Russia would manage, he had done so for hundreds of years and would continue to do so. What he needed now, was an escape plan, before he had to give up territories and effectively lose the war.

Two days later, the escape plan presented itself in the form of a highly unexpected visit from the most annoying country living in the palace.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knockknockknockknock! Knock!

Russia lifted his hurting head (his headaches had been growing worse again) and glared at the door.

''Who is it?'' He asked tersely. Austria and Germany never knocked, they just came in. Russia therefore concluded that it must be a servant.

Instead, he heard a high-pitched voice through the door. ''Ne, ne, Russia-san, it's Italia, can I come in?''

Russia gave a short nod, then realised the young nation would not have seen it and finally called out a ''come in''.

Even though he had sounded quite perky outside the door, Italy looked down-trodden and quiet as he made his way to sit next to Russia on the sofa.

''What is it?'' Russia asked the sad-faced nation, and he was sure he did not sound one bit concerned. Maybe a bit.

'' Russia-san, if I asked you to keep a secret, would you?''

Intrigued, Russia smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile, which came out as slightly frightening, but Italy was never a nation to be deterred.

''From whom should I keep it a secret, then?''

Italy bit his lip and looked down at the blue carpet. ''Doitsu and Austria-san...''

''I thought you and Germany were very close?'', Russia asked, remembering one evening where he had walked into one of the rooms and had seen Germany holding Italy close in what seemed to be a much longer version of a hug, an embrace, really.

Italy blushed and his ears turned red. ''Y-yes we are, but Russia-san, promise you won't tell?''

''Well, seeing as I am their hostage and owe them no allegiance, you have my word as a nation.''

''Thank you, thank you, Russia-san!''

Russia took a calming breath to dampen his slight aggression at the loud nation and gave Italy an enquiring look.

''Well, you see... you have been here at Austria's place for more than two months and I... I see how Austria treats you. How he won't let you go home and... he won't even give you pasta!!'' It seemed as though the smaller nation was more outraged at the latter than the former.

Russia was not sure where he was going.

''So... I have decided to quit the war. I don't want to fight you, Russia-san. Because you know, I saw you the other night, when you walked in as Doitsu was hugging me and I saw you smile and you left because you are polite and nice and you don't deserve to be our horsetage!''

''Hostage.'' Russia corrected dryly. ''And what makes you think I'm nice?''

''I can see it, Russia-san, you are a lot nicer than Austria, even though you are stronger and taller than him.''

Russia felt strangely touched as he looked down at the smaller nation, who looked up with fiercely loyal brown eyes.

''I want to help you escape, Russia-san!''

Russia froze. ''Quiet, Italia, don't say it so loud. Someone might hear.''

Italy clapped a hand in front of his mouth and then whispered: ''Sorry!''

Exasperated, but filled with new hope, Russia gave him a slow, conspirational smile and Italy left, saying he would begin planning. Russia continued smiling even after he left, thoughts of revenge on England forming in his mind.

-888-

Riing!

''Hello, England speaking?''

''Ne, ne, Igirisu! Boku wa Italia, I want to quit the war!''

''What?!''

''Austria-san is being so mean to Russia-san and he is so nice, because the other day, when I was having pasta with Doitsu and-''

''You want to give up the war?''

''Yes, but don't tell Doitsu and Austria-san! Will you help me free Russia-san?''

''I...''

''Russia-san told me you will sign a Treaty giving away his lands, but you haven't signed it yet and you are the only really strong country I know, and America doesn't count because he's weird!''

''Italy, are you sure about this? Do you really want to leave Germany and Austria?''

''They don't need me, Austria-san said so.''

''How...'', England was looking for words that Italy would understand, ''...how mean of him.''

''It's okay. Austria-san simply doesn't like me. But Russia does! So I want him to be free again!''

England sighed. ''Me too, believe me, me too.'' He hesitated, but then decided to trust the smaller country. ''I have made plans to rescue him, myself. I have my troops in Switzerland, ready to storm Austria's palace, and I am moving Russia's Armies into position near the Polish-Austrian border. We should be ready to attack soon.''

''Woooow, Igirisu, you are so strong!!''

England blushed and brushed off the compliment. ''Maybe you can hold off Austria when we storm the palace? I will deal with Germany for you.''

''Ne, Igirisu, but you won't be mean to Germany, right?''

England sighed quietly. ''I will try my best to not harm him. Is that acceptable?''

''As long as Doitsu is fine, I'll do what you ask.''

-888-

It was in the early hours of the morning that the phone rang. Russia, who was an early riser, looked up from the book he was reading in the living room, but did not get up to pick up the receiver. He knew that Germany was awake, too, and had been even longer than him, doing push-ups in his room.

The house was eerily quiet as the phone's rings echoed through the long, empty corridors.

Then, an indistinct German curse, followed by the nation itself, came out of Germany's room, sprinting toward the phone.

Russia only looked up with mild interest as Germany answered the phone.

''Ja? Germany speaking?''

Russia lowered his gaze to his book again, and couldn't believe his ears when he heard the German's next sentence.

''Russia is advancing on Austria?!''

Russia couldn't... no that was impossible. Without his leadership, his country was unable to... there had to be a misunderstanding.

Apparently, Germany thought along the same lines. ''That's impossible, Schwartz, we have Russia here, he can't have commanded his troops!'' Germany threw the wide-eyed Russia a probing glance and then went back to glaring intensely at the notepad lying next to the phone, drawing little stick figures and impaling them with sharp strokes of his pen as he spoke.

Russia slowly got up and made his way from the room. He needed to see Italy.

Before he had even reached the other nation's rooms, he saw the smaller figure in the hallway, coming toward him, with an uncharacteristic frown on his face.

''Italy, my armies are attacking Austria. Was this your doing...?''

But Italy just darted glances around and when the huge brass knocker on the main doors of the palace announced the presence of someone at the door, Italy visibly cowered and ran into the living room, where Germany had just slammed down the receiver. Russia quietly followed.

''Italy, Russia is advancing on Austria, I have just dispatched the Austrian and German forces to that front. Where's Austria? And who is at the door?'' Germany sounded truly hassled.

''Doitsuuu, it's England!! England is outside! Waaaah! His army is everywhere! Look, look, here outside the palace!''

Russia's head whipped around and he strode to the window. England...? Was he...?

Outside, rows and rows of green-clad soldiers stood as far as Russia's eyes could see, looking as though they were awaiting someone's order. England's order, to be precise.

Russia scanned the rows of soldiers with a disbelieving gaze, when suddenly, England came into view, returning from knocking on the door. He stood tall before his troops, his blonde hair gleaming in the first rays of morning sun as he gave his orders.

Russia couldn't believe his eyes. No, England had agreed to sign the Treaty. England hadn't cared, didn't care about Russia. Of course he didn't. But... but he was here! Right here, just as Russia had hoped he would be! No. Russia shook his head. He wouldn't trust him, he had been disappointed and this... Russia didn't know what this was, but England had hurt him and Russia wouldn't be hurt again. He turned from the window, even as a small voice inside him longed to keep looking at England and to hope again.

When Russia focused on the room again, Germany was yelling orders to a handful of guards that had come trooping into the room. At the same moment, an ear-splitting cry was heard from outside. A combined cry of thousands of throats, yelling in fierce English as the floor started trembling under their massive steps.

The guards in the room sprinted downstairs to secure the hall and Germany was on the phone again, shouting at some unfortunate military general to _immediately_ bring his _Lahmarsch_ troops to the Austrian palace. Italy was conspicuously absent, and so was Austria.

Russia stood, rooted to the spot, as Germany slammed down the phone again and turned toward where Italy had been standing before. ''Scheiße, where's Austria??''

Italy appeared in the doorway, panting. ''Doitsu, he left through the backdoor to get reinforcements!''

Germany's voice was approving. ''Good. Now, everyone move to the hall! You too, Russia, I am going to keep an eye on you!'' And with that, he was off.

Russia turned to Italy, the first few shudders running through the palace, as the front doors were attacked. ''Is this part of your plan?''

Italy grinned. ''Nah, Russia-san, this is all England! He had the idea of commanding your troops to distract Austria and Germany while he had his own coming to save you!! He planned it all along!''

Russia's eyes widened. England had really... after all... he hadn't meant to betray him? Maybe that was what he had been trying to say in the last dream?

A warm feeling flooded Russia and he did not even notice that Italy was tugging him along into the corridor. All he could think of was England, England when he stroked his hair, England when he smiled, that real, quiet and warm smile he used to give Russia in his dreams...

Rattle. Rattle. Rattlerattlerattlerattlerattle. ''LET ME OUT YOU FUCKING PASTA-FREAK!!!!!''

Russia stopped short and Italy tugged on his hand. ''Come on, Russia-san! We're nearly there!''

Russia cocked his head.

''WHERE ARE YOU, YOU TRAITOR?? GERMANYY!! GERMANY! HELP!!''

''...Tell me, Italy, is that Austria?''

The locked door rattled some more as the nation trapped within tried to dislodge a piece of wood shoved between the handles and a whole stack of furniture, including Germany's massive office desk, as far as Russia could see.

Italy smiled back at Russia brightly. ''That, Russia-san, is my contribution to your rescue''. Then, he continued to lead him down the stairs.

The front doors were giving way. They had not been made to withstand the onslaught of soldiers, not to mention a whole army brimming with cold, British fury.

As soon as the doors broke down, chaos reigned. English soldiers were mowed down by German guards with heavy guns and as more and more soldiers flooded into the huge entrance hall, screams began to multiply and some Germans started to fall. Blood splattered on the white marble as English soldiers impaled Austrian guards with their pikes.

And through the horrifying commotion, England strode in wearing his green uniform, eyes blazing, as bullets whizzed around his head, not touching the nation in any moment.

''Germany!'', he yelled, anger burning coldly in his eyes.

Russia glanced around, trying to spot the tall nation, but he couldn't see him anywhere. Instead, his violet eyes met England's.

For a moment, everything was still for Russia. The bullets whizzing past and through him, not harming him because he was a country, were silent and the screams of the dying and the anguished soldiers were drowned out by absolute silence as he saw England again. He opened his mouth to call for him, to somehow get this odd feeling of elation out of his system, because he didn't understand it. No words leaving his choked-up throat, he smiled, feeling as though it was the first true smile he ever gave.

-888-

England was rooted to the spot. Russia was standing up there, looking so... tall and still vulnerable. So helpless in the battle. And he was looking at England, with eyes that appeared older than ever, and brimming with a new-found warmth as his lips stretched into a smile. England's chest hurt. That smile, that amazing, deep smile, promising indulgence and warmth, was directed at him, only him. It was his. In that moment, Russia looked like an apparition on top of those stairs and England wanted nothing more than to shoot all those bloody German and Austrian guards and carry Russia away so that his innocence was not tainted by all this violence.

Suddenly, the spell was broken. Russia's eyes widened, and a dark shadow fell across Russia's face as a tall figure stepped around him, leveling a gleaming, deadly gun at his head. Fierce blue eyes challenged England's as Germany adjusted his grip on the hand gun.

-888-

''England!'', Russia couldn't help calling.

Germany smiled. ''You will surrender now, England. And don't think I'll forget you betrayed me.''

Russia glanced to England, hating to see him in danger. And what was he doing that for anyways? Russia didn't deserve it. Had he ever helped England? No. He had always been the one to ask for help or comfort, never England. Never England. Why did he have to act so strong all the time? Making a decision, Russia called out to England. ''Forget about me! Just get out of here! I'm not important...!''

England heatedly looked up at him. ''Of course you are! Guess who I am doing this for, you bloody git!'' The gun he had pointed at Germany was shaking.

Russia swallowed. England thought he was... important?

The fighting had gradually stopped as the two countries came to an impasse. In the silence, a bright voice called out.

''Ne, ne, Doitsu!''

''Not now, Italia. Can't you see I'm busy?'', Germany growled, never taking his eyes off England.

''Doitsu.'' The name was said in such a serious voice, that Germany finally looked at Italy, surprised at the tone. What shocked him even more was the small gun pointed at his chest, trembling terribly in Italy's grasp.

Germany gaped. ''Italia...? What's wrong with you? Why are you...?'' The taller nation swallowed.

Italy's words were pained, but he stayed focused. ''Let him go. Let Russia-san go.''

''Italy, what has gotten into you?''

''Let. Him. Go.'' Italy was crying now, silent tears running down his face.

Germany lowered his weapon. England shot. Russia ran. Italy cried.

Germany dodged down behind a statue, narrowly avoiding the deadly bullets aimed at him. Italy just sunk down on the stairs, staring at his hands, having discarded the terrible weapon.

Russia arrived next to England. There was no time for hellos. One glance said all that needed to be said as England silently handed Russia one of his guns, which Russia deftly took, marvelling at their synchronised movements. They both aimed at Germany, who had slowly risen from behind his shelter with slightly raised hands, showing his surrender, faced with two guns and no ally to back him up.

''I won't forget this-'', he seethed, grabbing an unresisting Italy by the hand and retreating upstairs.

The soldiers lowered their weapons, the English retreating while the Germans and Austrians that had been left slowly followed Germany.

''England...'' Russia hesitated. There was so much to say. I am sorry I didn't trust you, I am glad you came, I felt happy inside when you said I am important, I want you to stay right here, to wrap those strong arms around me, look me in the eyes and say that everything is all right. Instead of speaking, he turned his gun around, offering England the hilt.

-888-

Hearing his own name on the lips of Russia made England turn to him, and damn, his chest hurt again when he saw his vulnerable violet eyes. His eyes fell down to his own weapon that he had given Russia. Flicking his eyes up again, probing, asking unspoken questions and wanting, more than anything else, to take Russia in his arms, comfort him, touch him, reassure himself he was truly here, truly safe. And gods, to kiss him, kiss his innocence away, until nothing remained but the fact that Russia was his and would never be gone again.

England slowly strechted out his hand for the gun, resting his hand on top of the taller nation's. It was supposed to be a mere pause in the act of taking back the gun, but the contact between their hands, skin on skin, made England stop. The touch was both calming and electrifying, a giddying combination that made it such an addictive sensation. England left his hand where it was, aware that with every second that passed, the silence between him and Russia became heavier and heavier, tension gathering, toward a moment he was both fearing and yearning for.

Without his consent, his left hand had risen, slowly coming to rest on Russia's right upper arm and without warning, England's arms were around Russia, pressing him close with all his might, afraid to let him go. Russia himself was holding him just as tightly, and maybe even more so, his superior strength taking away England's breath. And it felt so right. England's hands were moving up and down Russia's back and it felt less and less like an embrace and more like a desperate need for reassurance that Russia was safe and healthy and gods, did his back feel strong, and yet so vulnerable under his hands. England's hands roamed Russia's back, moved up and down his arms, eyes following their movement, as they made their way up to Russia's shoulders, his neck, his face.

A moment of stillness befell them and their eyes interlocked eternally for a split second in time.

And then, the distance was closed in the blink of an eye and it was with an insatiable hunger that England covered Russia's lips with his own, claiming the taller nation with his forceful kiss. Russia, who had been surprised at first, tightened his arms around England, signalling that he was more than inclined to continue the current activity and England was shocked at his strength when Russia grabbed his head and proceeded to thoroughly claim his mouth in return, with a ferocity that bordered on violence.

England couldn't help it and moaned into the kiss, which he compensated for by taking control again and slowing the kiss down until it transformed into a tender brushing of lips, interspersed with short pauses filled with locked eyes and whispered words in both Russian and English.

When they finally parted, the gun lying forgotten on the floor, Russia's earnest eyes were on fire, burning into England's. ''I haven't thanked you yet.''

England smiled, a ridiculously happy feeling building up inside him. ''You just did.''

-8888888-

Wooot! One more chapter to go! :D What do you think? The ''Treaty'' that Italy and England make over the phone did take place at that time and was called the Treaty of London. Italy joined the Allied Powers on April 26, 1917, effectively betraying Germany and Austria. Woonderful!


	5. Chapter 5

Hello everyone, this is the last chapter! Thanks for reading and commenting! I love all of your reviews, the long and the short ones. Russia says thanks. -throws an apple at Lithuania- hahahaa I love scaring him :D Not many historical events in here, instead it's a lot more fluff ^_^ I've been wanting to write this chapter from the beginning and finally did! I'm not 100% happy with how it turned out, grr. Oh well. I love y'all :) Have fun!

Chapter 5 – May 1917

The alarm clock was ringing insistently, as the first minutes of 6am ticked away.

''Bloody hell, what is making that damn noise!?''

The aggravated yell echoed into the kitchen, where Russia was standing, gently pouring tea into two cups. He was whistling the Russian anthem and unhurriedly made his way to the bedroom, carrying a tray with breakfast.

He pushed the door open and changed the tune he was whistling to ''God save the Queen'', occasionally including a note or two of his own anthem.

England was barely comforted by his anthem and was burrowing into his pillow.

Sighing, Russia walked over to the window, smiled, and ripped open the curtains. Bright morning sunlight flooded in and England groaned.

''Time to wake up!'' Russia sounded almost cheerful in his torture of the stronger country. Ever since they had returned from Austria, he had been in a better mood, as though England had taken away the burden of his past. And maybe he had. Russia sometimes even managed to forget that there were still political troubles in his country, since he barely felt the impact of the unrest due to England's presence. Somehow, being with England made him feel safe, strong and needed. Not to mention horny.

''I don't want to...''

''I have tea-'' Russia began, setting his tray down on the bedside table.

''Where!?'' England was sitting upright in bed in a flash, scanning the room for the tea. His hair was dishevelled and his green eyes alert.

Russia, who had been up at least an hour, half of which he had spent watching England as he dreamed, couldn't resist him any longer. Without warning, he climbed onto the bed and sat on the wide-eyed England's hips, playful violet eyes amusedly gazing at England's face, half of which still had an imprint of his pillow.

''You don't want to get up? How about I make you.'' And Russia leaned down quickly, nearly smothering the smaller country with his weight, and kissed his parted lips. Russia let his mouth linger on England's for a second more, until England reacted passionately, arching upward to taste more of the other nation. Russia withdrew quickly, smiling gleefully as England groaned in frustration and let his sleepy head fall back down onto his pillow. Again, Russia dived down, placing two, three short, sweet kisses on England's lips, which had pulled into a frown. And again, England arched up, only to have Russia draw back, grinning shyly.

''Russia!'' England called in a tone that could nearly have been described as whining. ''Not fair!''

Russia, blushing, squirmed a bit where he was sitting on England's hips, rubbing against the blonde nation tantalizingly in the process.

-888-

England moaned, Russia smiled, and climbed off him and the bed. God, Russia was such a tease.

''Breakfast. Now.'', the taller nation ordered with a playful glint in his violet eyes.

Knowing he had lost and wanting nothing more than get breakfast out of the way so that he could have Russia all to himself and... make sure Russia finished what he started, he sat up and reached for the tray.

Russia was already sipping his tea, which, England was sure, was laced with at least a shot of vodka.

He sniffed his own suspiciously and threw a glance at Russia, who gave him a grin that could have meant he should be afraid or that Russia was just playing with him. England hoped it was the latter as he took the first sip. It tasted just fine.

''Are you ready for the summit?'', Russia asked.

England sighed. ''Well, it will be hard to treat you as I did before we...'' He trailed off.

''...yes. Before we. It shouldn't be too hard.'' Russia cast down his eyes, making it hard to tell for England what he was feeling. The only thing he knew was the Russia was not happy about them having to be quiet about their new relationship. And he agreed. Neither was he, but they simply couldn't afford to upset the balance of power in Europe with the war still raging. It was impossible to gauge how the other nations would react to their countries'... closer relation than ever.

England reached over to Russia sitting on the edge of his bed and put a hand on his knee in quiet agreement.

''We'll manage, Russia, we always have.''

''...we have, but now it feels like you have never been gone, that there was never a time you were not right next to me, ready to catch me when I fall...'' Russia's voice sounded introspective, as though he was realising something important.

England leaned over and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing Russia tightly.

''Who said I won't be there? I will be with you and when you need me, I will be there.''

''I just wish we could tell the world'', Russia bit his lip and laid his head on England's shoulder.

Gentle fingers moved to his hair, caressing the soft strands. Russia felt more than heard England's soft sigh.

''Me too.''

-888-

England had arrived at the summit first. He and Russia had agreed to arrive separately and at different times so that no nation would make the connection.

When Russia arrived, England was in a deep conversation with America. He looked up only briefly as Russia entered, giving him a short nod, but with his eyes sparking.

Russia could feel his face threatening to stretch into a smile and had to bite his lip. But he couldn't help but feel annoyed at how bright America's eyes were, how carefree his laugh was when he laughed at something England had said. Russia desperately wished he could simply walk over, sit on England and claim his mouth right there, in front of America, to show him, once and for all, that England was his.

America laughed again, this time with one of his trademark laughs. He clapped England on the back, grinning at him.

Russia clenched his jaw. He tried to convince himself that there was no reason to be jealous, but America just seemed so... close to England. Russia did not like it. He did not like it at all.

Forcing himself to look away and pretend not to care, Russia walked to his seat, his face betraying no emotion. He would show them.

...

Minutes later, America had taken control of the meeting again. ''The next point on our agenda is: Germany's two-front war!'', the tall nation was cheerfully announcing.

France raised a hand. ''A three-front war would be of great advantage to us, making Germany divide his troops into...''

Russia tuned the long-haired nation out in favour of glaring at America a bit. When he grew tired of cursing the stronger nation in his head, he went over to watching England take notes, oblivious to Russia's eyes on him. He looked so intellectual with his attention fully on France's speech and his pen hovering above the paper, ready to descend at any moment if an important idea had been voiced. Russia felt like reaching out across the distance and even tried to extend a leg under the table to touch England's, but the blonde nation was sitting two seats down, opposite of Russia and Russia's foot only bumped against Lithuania's accidentally as he withdrew it in disappointment.

Lithuania immediately looked around alertly, trying to discern who had just bumped feet with him and when he saw Russia's eyes fixed on him, he gave a small, involuntary squeak and cowered. Russia was surprisingly entertained by his reaction and proceeded to extend his leg again, kicking Lithuania under the table. Lithuania ''eep''ed and shot him another quick, scared glance, withdrawing his feet and legs to who-knows-where. Russia would have bet that the small nation was sitting on them. He grinned.

Just then, England looked over, assessing the situation in a glance. Lithuania shaking, Russia grinning.

England threw him a reproving glare before focusing on France again.

Russia's grin grew. England had paid attention to him. It had felt wonderful. Maybe he would do so again.

Ripping the corner off one of his papers, Russia crumbled it into a three small balls. Glancing at England, he threw one at Lithuania, who wanted to duck it but failed.

England was paying attention to France. Not one to gove up, Russia took another ball of paper.

-888-

England was well aware that Russia was trying to get his attention, but honestly, hadn't they agreed to be inconspicous? Hadn't they-

Squeak.

That had been Lithuania. France paused and all nations present leaned over to see Lithuania tremble and Russia smile, eyeing three balls of paper he had most probably thrown.

England felt sorry for the small country and exasperated with Russia. He agreed, keeping their relationship a secret was hard, but that was no reason to scare an innocent nation. The other countries were too scared to do anything to help, fearing Russia's wrath. England sighed, coming to the shaking nation's rescue.

''Russia, stop throwing things at Lithuania, you are scaring him.''

Shocked silence.

If there had been crickets, they would have chirped.

America stared at England with his mouth open. _''Are you crazy?!''_, he urgently whispered.

China looked concerned.

Estonia and Latvia were making frantic shushing motions with their hands.

Lithuania hyperventilated and ducked down in his chair as Russia looked over to England.

Slowly, all eyes turned to Russia, expecting the worst from the unhinged nation that Russia was in their eyes.

''Sorry, England, I... I guess I shouldn't have done that'', Russia said sheepishly, blushing a bit. England smiled.

All nations stared.

America shut his mouth first, only to open it again, like a fish out of water. ''The... the... England... Russia... what? ''

England rose from his chair to distract the flabbergasted nations. Meanwhile, Russia was giving him a look that made him want to find a broom closet, drag Russia in and... No! He had to concentrate!

''Well, now that I have all of your attention, this is a good moment to discuss the information Russia managed to gather while imprisoned in Austria, as well as for me to present the data concerning the German and Austrian military, which I received from our new ally, Italy.''

England attempted to sound calm and confident, to give the impression that really, nothing had happened (and yes, it had! Why couldn't he simply show them?), and slowly, the Allied Powers started focusing on what he was saying. America gave him a smile. England smiled tentatively back, catching Russia glancing between them with a frown on his face.

''Italy's second in-depth report will reach us shortly and meanwhile I would like to ask Russia to explain what he found out in Austria'', England finished.

''What I found out in Austria...'', Russia quietly repeated, an unreadable look on his face.

He rose and slowly walked around the table, toward England.

The nations shifted in their seats. Something was in the air.

England threw him a glance as Russia passed China and Estonia, which was answered by an intense gaze fixed on him and only him. England suddenly felt as though the uniform he was wearing was much too hot. And Russia... Russia looked like he was up to something.

Instead of stopping as he reached the head of the table, Russia kept stepping closer to England, making him take step after step backward in confusion. All the while, his eyes were trained on England, burning with intensity. England's eyes were shouting silent questions. They were in front of everyone and Russia backing England against the wall made the other nations whisper among themselves. What the hell was Russia doing?

England stopped, nearly backed against the wall, and urgently whispered, ''Russia-''

And Russia was on him. Arms wrapped around him fiercely, gathering him close, as he was backed up against the wall, with Russia's whole body to keep him in place. England struggled, wondering what had gotten into the taller nation, when Russia grabbed England's face and thoroughly kissed him, his power evident in the way he kept England from escaping.

For another moment, England resisted. Then, he closed his eyes, knowing that he could no longer deny anything. America, France, all his allies were seeing what had happened between Russia and him but, to be honest, England was happy. He had hated to pretend not to be involved with Russia, to deny their relationship. And this... simply felt so right. He began to stop caring that they were in public, kissing back enthusiastically. All he wanted right now was to finally feel Russia's mouth on his and his strong arms around him.

Another moment that lasted an eternity and then, Russia released him. They were both panting and behind them, the congress room was very quiet.

-888-

Russia turned to the room. Everyone was in different stages of shock. Finally, Russia spoke.

''England wanted me to explain what I found out in Austria.''

Everyone blinked, having expected anything but that.

''That day in Austria...'', Russia paused and looked at England, who had been hiding behind him, blushing but pleased. Smiling, he stretched out his hand. England grasped it and stepped around the taller nation to stand at his side, his acceptance making Russia smile a smile of ridiculous, soaring pleasure.

Standing tall and proud in front of the Allied Powers with England at his side, Russia looked deep into his green eyes. Suddenly, he felt as though he was alone with him, as though there was no one else in the world. Seeing his reddened cheeks, the dishevelled hair and the eyes, those eyes that had melted his frozen heart in his dreams, eyes that were gazing up at him with such love, such acceptance- his chest constricted and a wondrous feeling welled up in him, filling him until it felt like it was going to burst out of him at any moment to envelop him in its jubilant, leaping lightness.

Letting that feeling bleed into his words, Russia turned to the world.

''That day in Austria... I found out that I can love.''

-The End-

:D Russiaaa *glomp* Drop me a line :) I have a whole list of bloopers I'd love to include, tell me if you want them! Bloopers as in: this could have happened, this did happen and was funny, or just simple silliness. :D I'd love to write them. If anyone is wondering, I will be writing more fics- probably a USxUK and one with Austria. Oh, and I simply have to mention this! I just did a character quiz and I was being honest for once... look what that got me: I am Lithuania. *snort* Apparently, I love scaring myself ;) Anyways, if you liked this story, come read the others when I post them. Have a wonderful day/night, wherever (whenever) you are!

-Doitsu


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